


Prompt Fills: Promptio

by Lhugy_for_short



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19238893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: Short Promptio drabbles, some smutty, others angsty, the rest are everything in between.First set: #1. Warning; #2. Cage; #3. AnswerSecond set: #4. Memory; #5. RegretThird set: #6. Morning kiss; #7. First timeFourth set: #8. Blame; #9. Analysis; #10. Lie; #11. FlawlessFifth set: #12. Glory hole; #13. Pickle Jar; #14. TrashySixth set: #15. CoachSeventh set: #16. Sharing; #17. Handcuffs





	1. First Set

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to clog AO3 up with drabbles, but with Tumblr...the way it is and Pillowfort atrophied, I didn't know where else to post these. The good news, however, is that this is the most I've managed to write in over a month, so I think we're making progress. Woohoo.

Prompt: **Warning**

Word count: 391

 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Prompto, swallowing, takes a step back. “W-what’dya mean, big guy?”

“Oh, I think you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.” Gladio is almost on him now, his broad shoulders and massive chest taking up more space than should be possible in the hotel room. Like one of those demon giant things, Prom thinks: intimidating and powerful and _really_ pissed off.

Okay, well maybe Gladio isn’t _that_ mad, but there’s definitely a fire in his eyes as he reaches down to undo the buckle of his belt. The sound of it clinking open is timed perfectly, just enough to hide the shuddering gasp that leaves Prompto’s throat the second his calves hit the edge of the bed behind him. _Cornered_ , he realizes, and the beast is already poised to strike.

It happens in a rush.

Gladio moves forward and the room flips on its side; Prompto’s breath leaves him as he’s toppled back onto the mattress, his eyes wide and hands pinned uselessly above his head; anything he could have yelped is swallowed up by the hot, hungry mouth that swoops in to conquer his own, just as Gladio’s hips roll down to quell the last of his resistance.

“I told you, baby,” comes that rough, familiar tone somewhere in the vicinity of his jaw now. Prompto shivers, curls his fingers into his palms and tries not to lose it right then and there. “If you’re gonna slap my ass in front of the guys, you’re gonna pay for it later.”

He’s hard, so _totally hard right now_. Can his boyfriend feel the way he’s trembling? Can he hear the need on his breath?

Above him, Gladio smirks. A darkness mixes with the fire in his eyes, and the powerful thigh between Prom’s legs withdraws every so slightly. “Heh. You’re not getting off that easy tonight, babe. I warned you.” As he speaks, his fingers glide quickly down the sides of Prompto’s torso, over the lean curves of his hips to hook around the hem of his pants instead. “I plan to make you _pay_. Now, be a good boy and turn over for me, or it won’t just be my palm marking up your pretty little ass tonight.”

Gulping, staring up into his boyfriend’s burning amber gaze, Prom once again seriously considers pushing his luck.

 

* * *

 

Prompt: **Cage**

Word count: 328

 

The club is like nothing he’s ever experienced before. From the thrumming bass to the swirling lights to the drinks that glow and make his head feel...different. Like he’s floating, unchained to his inhibitions or the duties he’s come here to escape. Just for tonight, Gladio can shed his title, the responsibilities of being _who he is_ outside the walls of this place; just for tonight, he wants to let it all go.

Above the dance floor, cages are suspended beneath colorful lights. Bodies fill them, sometimes alone, sometimes coupled, but all of them putting on the same kind of show: _skin and flashes of teeth, rolling hips and heated eyes that seem to draw him in._ Already Gladio’s picked a favorite. There, in the second cage from the left, is how he wants to lose himself this night. He starts forward just as the cage’s door swings open to welcome him in.

The young man is his opposite in nearly every way. Blond, freckled, light where Gladio is dark, lithe where he’s solid and broad. But maybe that’s why they fit so well together in the tight space. Why the blond’s mouth feels so perfect against his lips, and why, even through their clothes, each and every touch is more intoxicating than any drink he’s ever had.

His name is Prompto, Gladio learns somewhere between the kisses and the warm hand sliding into his pants. Are they even dancing anymore? Does it matter? All around them the music sets the pace, keeps them pressing closer together, their breaths joined in a heavy rhythm all their own. Until Gladio knows nothing but the scent of citrus on soft skin and those blue, blue eyes watching him.

 _Just for tonight,_ he reminds himself as lean legs tighten around his hips.

 _Just for tonight_ , that nagging voice repeats, even over the sound of Prompto’s moans in his ear, and the creaking of the metal cage.

_Just...one more night._

  


* * *

 

Prompt: **Answer**

Word Count: 254

 

 _What? Why are you looking at me like that?_ Prompto wants to ask, but the words never quite form on his lips. There’s no room for them, not when the sounds currently tumbling out are breathless, strained with both exertion and need. He’s full, so full and yet somehow his body wants more; craves it, like an obsession pushing him past his limits in search of that perfect moment.

Below him, stretched out across their narrow bed, Gladio seems to sense it, too. Maybe that’s why he’s gone still, only his fingers moving like kisses across the tops of Prom’s thighs. He’s given up control completely this time, no longer trying to chase pleasure but instead letting it wash over him in waves. Prompto can see it in his eyes now, in the bright rings of amber-gold watching him above thick, parted lips.

Like this, he realizes with a start, Gladio is breathtaking - not only his usual charming, stunning self, but truly _beautiful_ . Prompto feels something stirring in his chest, a heaviness he can neither explain nor put his finger on in that moment, yet the weight of it feels...right. It feels _good_. Pleasure sparks through him, and his fingers clench in the pillows that frame Gladio’s face.

“ _Prom_.”

That voice like a tempest sends more waves crashing over his trembling frame. _He’s close, so close…._

“Prom, baby. I love you.”

_Oh._

_Gods_.

Blue eyes fly open wide, and Prompto cries out his answer as he has so many times in his dreams.

  



	2. Second Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only two this time, and they're not as smutty as last time, sorry! Both prompts were suggested by AikyoSilver, though *heart*
> 
> Prompto #4. Memory; #5. Regret

Prompt: **Memory**

Word count: 379

 

It’s late. Beyond the window, darkness blankets the sky in a sullen grey-black. Cold, too. Prompto hugs the blanket closer around his shoulders. 

He should probably be sleeping - Astrals know he needs the beauty rest - but it’s times like this he finds it easiest to think. To  _ remember.  _ And inevitably, sometime before the hidden moon sinks below the horizon, his mind always ends up taking him back to the same place.

Gladio’s hands are engraved in his memory. The touch of them, the  _ feel _ of them running over his own skin. Rough, rugged, the tips of each finger calloused with years of training, of fighting, and yet they always grazed his lips with such tender reverence. His broad knuckles, scarred as they were back then, tasted exactly like home whenever Prompto kissed them. 

A knot tightens somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. These memories are dangerous in their own way, tempting him to get lost in sweet, distant desires. Prompto doesn’t cling to the past, not anymore. But...when he thinks back to those hands….

_ Sliding up the small of his back, dull nails raking sparks across his skin.  _

_ Gripping his thighs, palms hot and sweaty yet never once losing their hold.  _

_ Squeezing his wrists, pressing them down into soft sheets to pin him in place with a controlled, hungry kind of power.  _

In his bed, Prompto looks up at the dark sky and shivers from more than just the winter chill.

_ Those hands spreading him, working his body open, leaving him breathless and vulnerable and  _ gods  _ how he loves the feel of calloused fingers deep inside his-- _

“Babe?” A voice at his back tugs him momentarily out of the reverie. “You cold? C’mere.” 

Gladio’s hands find him in the dark of the bedroom. They’re different from the ones in his memories; the knuckles are rougher, the lines deeper. But still strong, Prom smiles to himself, as he allows his husband to pull him closer beneath the sheets.

“Knock it off, that tickles.”

“Suck it up, buttercup.”

“Geezer.” 

“Old fart.” 

“Bite me.” 

The grin as Gladio presses a rather uncoordinated kiss to his temple in the dark  _ almost  _ counts. “Bet you’d like that.” 

Against a familiar, very scruffy jaw, Prompto chuckles. “Aww, you remembered.”   

 

* * *

 

Prompt: **Regret**

Word count: 785

 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m  _ so sorry,  _ Gladio!”

There was no response. Prompto swallowed back his panic and fumbled around in his pack for a potion instead. His fingers searched for smooth glass even as his eyes shakily assessed the damage: Gladio's face bloodied, his upper lip split in at least two places; the bridge of his nose dark where it jutted at an awfully odd angle. 

They'd been training together. Nothing out of the ordinary, just routine drills while Prompto got used to the weight of different weapons. Wooden bow staffs, a  _ shinai _ , and Gladio's personal favorite, the full-sized practice shield. It was the same one he'd used in his own rookie Crownsguard training, and he'd been excited to pass the torch, so to speak, onto his enthusiastic boyfriend. 

At least, that  _ had _ been the case until that particular morning. Now, Prompto thought with a worry of his lip, he'd be lucky if Gladio ever wanted to speak to him again. "C'mon, big guy. Please don't be dead."

The potion (a small-scale version designed to fit in a standard Crownsguard-issue first aid kit) felt like ice in his palm as he cracked it open. The acrid scent of herbs mixed with the stale sweat of the air in the dojo, but Prompto hardly even flinched. He was far more concerned with making sure every ounce of the vial's contents made it between Gladio's unmoving lips. 

And he waited, breath burning like Ifrit's fury in his lungs.  

" _ Please, please…. _ "

A cough. Followed quickly by the groan of someone who had just inadvertently taken an entire shield to the face. Gladio’s eyes opened in time to watch the last of the potion's magic dissipate, then settled (mostly) on familiar freckled cheeks. 

" _ Heeey,  _ babe. You're lookin' 'll…fuzzy."

"U-umm." Awake. At least he was awake. That was an improvement...right? "I need you to lie still for a bit, 'kay? J-just don't move. Can you count how many fingers I'm holding up?" 

"…Why's my head poundin'?" 

Panic bubbled up from Prompto's throat in the form of a high-pitched whine. "I'm so _ ooo _ sorry, babe! I didn't mean it, I just kinda slipped and fell a-and then  _ you _ were falling, too, and there was a kinda crunching sound that I think mighta been your nose? Oh, and you also probably have a concussion, and  _ I'm so sorry, Gladio, ohmigods please don't hate me forever-- _ "

"Prompto? What…? Are you crying?" Despite his boyfriend's advice, Gladio shifted himself up onto one elbow to get a closer look. 

"I  _ knew _ this was a stupid idea. I'm not cut out for this stuff, not like you and Iggy and Noct! I'm a klutz, I always mess everything up. Should've known someone was gonna get hurt." Trembling hands rubbed at puffy eyes. "I d-didn't want it t-to be you. Gladio, I--" 

"'M fine, babe. Hey, look at me." Through his tears, which poured freely now in a strange mix of relief and overwhelming guilt, Prompto tried to focus on Gladio again. His face was still smeared with blood, but it was drying, fading fast thanks to the effects of the potion. His nose, though bruising, looked less swollen than it had moments before. "This is part of training. I've had worse, okay? Lots worse." 

He drew a finger (almost steadily) down the length of the scar that ran over his left eye. Prompto swallowed. 

"It was an accident, accidents happen. You remember what we promised when we started this?" 

He wasn't sure whether Gladio meant  _ this  _ as in their weekly sparring sessions, or  _ this  _ as in  _ them _ . Either way, he  _ was  _ pretty sure that the answer was the same. "We said…'no regrets.'"

" _ 'No regrets,' _ " Gladio repeated, a smile forming on his lips where the dark cracks were already scabbing over. “Really, you should be proud you got a hit in on me. Packed a real punch, too.” 

“ _ Gladio…!”  _

“Kidding, babe. Gimme a hand to the bench?”

Prompto insisted on cleaning the dried blood from his face, while simultaneously covering it again with at least two dozen kisses. It was his way, he said, of apologizing, though in actuality the meaning ran far deeper than that. He still felt guilty, yes, and more than a little relieved to see Gladio bounce back so fast. But above all, Prompto was  _ afraid _ . 

They were leaving the city soon, the four of them. Out there, Noct was the one who they’d be protecting, fighting for -  _ dying for _ , if necessary. No more practice; the weapons they’d soon be facing would be real, and dangerous. If something happened…. If he wasn’t good enough by then to pull his own weight…. 

That would be the one regret he knew he could never live with.   
  



	3. Third Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: #6. Morning Kiss; #7. First Time (as suggested by AikyoSilver and Shiary)

Prompt: **Morning kiss**

Word count: 449 

 

The dream is fleeting, but not intangible. There's something about it, like a gentle breeze, that evokes the sounds and colors of summer. Swirling blues and yellows, the lapping of the sea at the shore. Laughter. Gladio feels like he's running without having to move his legs at all. And that's the beauty of a dream, isn't it? The freedom to do without _doing_. 

Something else is forming in the colorful patterns of his thoughts now. A face, familiar and clearer than anything else around him, as if plucked straight from a memory in his head. It turns toward him as a pair of eyes more blue than anything he could have imagined shimmer in Gladio's direction, and an invisible brush sweeps the figure's mouth into a brilliant smile. Soft and sweet and inviting, he thinks. Like always. 

The swirling colors of his dream quiet when he reaches Prompto at last, settling down into a single, simple backdrop. Nothing to distract him from the emotions, the warmth he feels here. In his dream, Gladio sighs in perfect contentment. 

And in the soft light of early morning that fills his corporeal bedroom, the real Gladio sighs, too. 

Beside him, a naked figure snuggles closer against his equally naked chest. 

Prompto is in that hazy realm that exists between consciousness and sleep, aware of the light and the birds outside and the sheets tangled around his leg, but not really minding any of it. There's no rush, he knows, to get up today, and so he plans to stay in bed for as much of it as possible. Or, well, at least until nature calls, or Noct texts him, or one of them decides it's time for coffee. 

But as he glances blearily up at the sleeping face above him, Prompto allows himself to sink a little further back into the pillows. There's no rush, he smiles. Gladio promised. 

With that thought and a happy little hum, he tucks his face into the comfortable, distinctly Gladio-scented crook of the larger man's neck. Presses a kiss to the rough-shaven jawline there, then another, and another, until the sound of soft lips trailing lazily over skin begins to fill the room. 

The sheets rustle. Prompto shifts himself lower, hooking one thigh around Gladio's waist and dragging his hands up to those firm, _firm_ pecs. 

And in Gladio's dream, his ethereal lover is doing the same. 

Except the small, red marks the _real_ Prompto is leaving along his collarbone won't fade when he opens his eyes. They'll still be there, perhaps the only proof that this rare moment of peace even happened at all. 

(Unless, of course, Gladio decides to wake up and _help_ .) 

* * *

Prompt: **First time**

Word count: 659

 

It wasn't like Prompto had really had any expectations about his first time. He might have been a virgin, but he'd seen enough porn to get the general _idea_ of sex, and he figured it would eventually happen to him on a worn sofa with sweaty palms and very little build up. That was how life always seemed to happen to him, after all; unexpected, unremarkable, and over pretty fast.

What he _hadn't_ expected was for his first time to be good. 

Really, _really_ good. 

He also wouldn't have guessed it'd be with Gladio fucking Amicitia - although he certainly wasn't complaining about that turn of events. Prompto had been (none-too-subtly) nursing a boner for his best friend's Shield since the first time they'd met back in Insomnia. He'd recognized Gladio as everything he wasn't: hot, charismatic, strong. The kind of guy you trust with your life, and fantasize about pinning you to a wall and blowing your mind. 

Which is, more or less, exactly how things had gone down that first night in Lestallum. 

All four of them had been understandably on edge by the time they'd traversed the empty plains of Cleigne and arrived at the Leville Hotel. Despite Jared’s warm welcome and their relief at seeing Iris in one piece, all they’d wanted was some peace and quiet to unwind. Ignis had whisked Noct off to the room on account of the prince’s headaches, and Gladio had dragged Prompto out as an excuse to drink. 

The night was warm, and the beers warmer, neither of which had done much to take the edge off. Eventually, after Gladio had fallen silent over the rim of his third bottle, Prompto suggested they go for a walk around town instead. 

Street music, the exotic scents of spices and meat. The atmosphere of the street market faded behind them as they took the steps to the Exineris power plant. During the day, Prompto remembered how busy the plaza had seemed, full of workers bustling about in thermosuits. But at night, with nothing but the glow of the meteor shards to keep them company, he and Gladio were mercifully alone. 

That’s when he’d made the mistake of smiling in the big guy’s direction. 

Gladio was already watching him. Had been, apparently, for a while, and there was a gleam in his eye that said he’d clearly gotten certain _ideas_ about why they were out here together. Prompto swallowed under the intensity. Gladio took that for the opening it was. 

It was his first kiss. It was rough, and powerful, and tasted of beer and skewers, but it still managed to blow every expectation he’d had out of the proverbial water. It was also the first time he’d been backed into an alcove between two grimey buildings and pressed, with absolutely no resistance, up against one of them. After that, everything happened in fast-motion. 

Gladio’s hands pushed first his shirt up, then his pants down. They wrapped around his wrist and his cock alike, gripping both hard enough to steal the last remnants of breath from his gasping lips. Not knowing what else to do, Prompto let the fingers of his free hand tangle in dark locks, and simply held on for the next part of the ride (during which he quickly learned that Gladio's mouth felt even better than his fist).  

And the part after that, which involved spit-slicked fingers and the welcome scrape of rough brick beneath his palms.

By the time they reached the last act, Prompto's head was so light he almost couldn't appreciate the _impressive_ stretch of Gladio entering him. 

Almost. 

As it was, he found himself gazing up, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, into the patch of night sky above, wondering how he'd ever lived without this. It had been unexpected, yes, but far from unremarkable. And he vowed right there, impaled on Gladio's cock in the shadows, that while it was his first time, it certainly wouldn't be his last. 


	4. Set Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long hiatus, finally a wild update appears :) Just the drabbles still for now, but I hope you like them anyway 
> 
> Fourth set: #8. Blame; #9. Analysis; #10. Lie; #11. Flawless

**Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear**

Prompt: **Blame**

Word count: 428

 

Prompto was staring again. He was aware of it, had been for the last few thudding heartbeats, and yet he still found himself unable to look away. Could anybody really blame him? For even in the small side mirror attached to the passenger door, Gladio's reflection was a magnificent sight to behold. 

He had a book open in front of him, those rich, amber eyes scanning over each page at an unhurried pace. Occasionally, he would drag his fingers back through his hair, or absently tap the side of his mouth with his thumb. Completely absorbed, completely unaware that he had such a captivated audience, 

Really, it wasn't Prompto's fault that his gaze kept being drawn back, over and over, to the same place. After all, he knew that mouth, those eyes, those fingers so intimately now. He'd felt them all – could still feel them even now – beneath his clothes, igniting him, sparking something deep inside. Had it really only been two nights ago? It seemed a dream somehow, and yet Gladio's lips pressed insistently against his in the dark of the Lestallum hotel room had been real enough. His hands beneath the sheets of the bed they'd shared had been real enough. And his voice, low and soothing in the dark, had been the most real of all.

Delicious shivers ran up Prompto's spine at the memory. Perhaps that was what drew Gladio's attention then, or maybe he'd just been waiting for the right moment to return the favor. Either way, amber eyes lifted to find smoldering blue, and Prompto felt his pounding heart shudder to a stop when they met. 

Gladio held his gaze intently, as sure as if those strong fingers were clasped beneath his chin. Seconds, then minutes passed between them. Prompto couldn't say how long for certain. An eternity, maybe, until his breath began to burn in his lungs and his cheeks flared with a familiar heat. Yet still he stared, spellbound, into the mirror, wishing he could somehow travel through it right into the backseat. Right into Gladio's lap, his arms, where for so long he'd wanted to call home.  

At last, with a dark smile filled with promise, Gladio released him. Turned back to his book calmly, like the fire between them wasn't still pulsing, thrumming, waiting for the end of the ride so it could consume them both once more in the seclusion of camp. Certainly Prompto felt it. So real, so warm inside his chest. It split his face in a broad smile, one about as subtle as a garula in heat and fooling exactly no one. 

But, really, who could blame him?

* * *

 

**Data Corrupted**

Prompt: **Analysis**

Word Count: 274

 

Analysis report, 0515756ME. Magitek Unit N-iP01357-05953234 observation log archives.

Access denied. Password invalid.

Level 8 access code or above required. 

Access denied. Password invalid. 

Level 8 acc…acce...ac??//-cess re????--?d.... ERROR. ERROR. ERR--

...Project ADAGIUM override protocols engaged. 

Access granted. Retrieving log archives. Please select desired files. 

Database entry 01: Noctis Lucis Caelum. Classified as Crown Prince of Lucis, childhood friend, fugitive. Threat level: maximum. Observation data contains 435 memory logs, 627 images, school records, arcade high scores, comic collection, and 21 combat recordings. Further analysis required. 

Database entry 02: Ignis Scientia. Classified as Crownsguard, advisor to Noctis, cook, fugitive. Threat level, high. Observation data includes 93 memory logs, 148 images, recipe catalog, and 16 combat recordings. Further analysis required. 

Database entry 03: Gladiolus Amicitia. Classification NOT FOUND. Threat level, NOT FOUND. Unable to access observation data. Memory lock executed by ARGENTUM, PROMPTO. Password required to access private files. 

Manual override attempted. Risk of damage to unit. Proceed? 

Manual override engaged. Retrieving video logs. 

_ //...up. Hey, babe, time to rise and shine. Iggy's making breakfast, you hungry? No? I know what you need this morning. C'mere, maybe this'll wake you up.... // _

_ //...hurt? No, you're not fine, you're bleeding. Lemme see your wrist. Here, just gotta take this off for a sec and -- Woah, what the hell, Prom? // _

_ //...ever get back home, I'll take you there. You'd like it. It could be...a date. Y'know, just you and me. How's that sound? Yeah? Gods, Prom...you're so beautiful.... // _

ERROR. CRITICAL DAMAGE DETECTED TO UNIT. 

SHUTTING DOWN CORE POWER. 

….

….

Unit N-iP01357-05953234 reboot failed. 

Data corruption detected. Unit compromised. 

Wipe stored memory? Y/N 

* * *

 

**Whatever Helps You Sleep at Night**

Prompt: **Lie**  

Word count: 286

 

The hand that reaches for him is uncertain. There's hesitation in the way it slides across the sheets, cautious as if expecting any moment to be slapped away. Timid, questing. Its fingers catch again and again on the folds of cloth, the bumps and ridges that rise like obstacles between them, yet it keeps going. The hand is uncertain, but there's resolve in it, too. 

Gladio senses it all without daring to utter a sound. He knows what will happen if he does, if he so much as opens his mouth to take in a breath. The spell will be broken. Prompto, flinching, will retreat from him, and they'll spend yet another night in silence wondering what this all means. Wonder what they mean to each other. 

So this night, he chooses to wait. He pushes back the thoughts that come, as they always do, from the furthest depths of his mind. Duty above all else. You don't get to choose, they'll never let you keep him. He'll only end up getting hurt. 

Instead, as Prompto's fingers finally brush against his, Gladio tells himself it's nothing. That this isn't serious, that it's temporary, so why worry at all? He continues to lie to himself even as he turns his wrist carefully in the dark. Even as he gently clasps Prompto's hand in his own, and hears the blond's hushed gasp so soft at his side. Even as their fingers, uncertain as they both are, twine together in the space between them, and his chest swells to the brim, Gladio doesn't dare call this by its name. To do so would ruin everything. 

Easier to lie, then, even if the only one he's lying to is himself. 

* * *

 

**Show-Off**

Prompt: **Flawless**  

Word count: 757

 

No one's perfect, Prompto knows that better than most. He's spent his entire life trying to fix his own flaws – every ounce of fat, every freckle, every strand of hair that tumbles out of place – and still he's never managed to be satisfied. He's never liked himself. But that, he figures, is pretty normal. Everyone has flaws. Everyone's at least a little bit self-conscious...right?

Well, today Prompto thinks he's met his match. As he leans against the ancient arcade machine, arms folded protectively over his stomach, he watches perhaps the most perfect being in the world thrash hi-score after hi-score on his favorite game. 

Noct's friend (who calls himself Gladio, but might as well go by Titan) is all the things Prompto isn't. Tall, broad, handsome, with a chiseled jaw and muscles that can't be missed even under his baggy sweatshirt. He's got eyes made of honey and amber, soft and sharp at the same time, and a smile that could melt the whole room. Though only a few years older, he holds himself with a confidence Prompto can't – could never possibly – imagine; a confidence that only comes with being effortlessly flawless. 

Prompto is equal parts fascinated and repulsed. He finds himself staring again, memorizing the way Gladio's body moves as he reloads his plastic gun, raises it, fires a perfect shot at the screen. How is he so good at that? How is it fair? Jealousy mixes with the fire in Prompto's chest, until it boils over and has him suddenly striding up to the machine just as Noct drops his controller in defeat. 

“Damn, three times in a row,” the dethroned prince grumbles. “Y'know, I'm technically your boss. Aren't you supposed to let me win sometimes?”

Shouldering his gun, Gladio grins down at him. “Like hell, Princess. Come back when you're on my level.”

“Whatever.” Noctis turns to Prompto then and shoves the plastic gun into his hands. “Give 'im hell, dude. Avenge me.” 

“Blondie wants to be next? Alright, bring it on.” 

Prompto says nothing. Eyes fixed on the loading screen, he steps up onto the platform and calmly raises his gun. An odd feeling of confidence begins to flow through him, fueled by the need to knock Mr. Perfect down a few pegs. Petty, sure. But as he feels Gladio's eyes on him, sizing up the challenge, he knows he can't back down now. 

The game starts, and enemies begin appearing in rapid succession across the screen. One by one, shot for shot, Prompto takes them out, his gun never once hesitating, his aim never less than perfect. In the corner of his gaze he sees his points racking up, faster, higher, but he's too focused to see who's in the lead. Is he winning? Or is Gladio? Round after round they play on, neither willing to give up or give in, until their heated battle starts to draw the attention of more than just Noct. 

Cheers go up around them when the game's final boss is felled. Prompto sucks in a breath – how long had he been holding that? - and turns to Gladio in time to see him wipe the sweat from his brow. 

Then the scores are tallying up on screen. This is it, Prompto thinks. His one chance to prove himself, to topple a (near literal) giant. _Player One,_ the game reads. That's Gladio. _Score: 942,648. Accuracy, 96.8%._

More cheers. Beside him, he can practically feel Gladio's smirk. 

_Player Two._ (Prompto's stomach is threatening to revolt.) _Score, 989,732. Accuracy, 99.8%. NEW RECORD!_

He...did it? He did it! 

“Look at that score! It's almost perfect!” 

“Never seen anything like it!” 

Noct is high-fiving him and people he's never met are patting him on the back, but Prompto's still staring at the screen in disbelief. He actually did it! Is Gladio watching? Is he going to be mad? 

But, no, Gladio's just standing there, wearing a gracious smile on that handsome face of his. He reaches out to clasp Prompto's shoulder, his grip warm and surprisingly tender. Familiar enough, Prompto swallows, to send his cheeks flaring with heat. 

“Not bad, Argentum. Not bad.” Is that...pride in his voice? “You gotta show me how to do that sometime.”

“U-um. Well, I mean, I still missed a couple of shots...,” he hears himself deflect, and sheepishly points to the screen. 

Something in Gladio's eyes softens then. Leaning in, he speaks in a low tone, and this time his words are for Prompto and Prompto alone. “Hey, don't sweat it. Nobody can be _totally_ perfect, after all.”  

 


	5. Set Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More radio silence, then another update, this time inspired by some lovely friends on Twitter. Shout-outs to Crossedquills and Sai for a couple of these :) 
> 
> Fifth set: #12. Glory hole; #13. Pickle Jar; #14. Trashy

**Run, Run, Run**

Prompt: Glory hole (for CrossedQuills) 

Word count: 398

 

The lights flicker overhead, an oily fluorescence illuminating filthy, weathered walls. Green-grey plaster chips and clatters to the floor, already dusty with the decay of years, and of unending darkness.

Normally, Prompto would mind the mess. He prefers to escape reality by  _ actually  _ escaping it, not by surrounding himself by more of the same depressing shit that defiles the rest of the world. Normally, he would get drunk, or high, or some combination of the two, and let the chemicals take him back to a happier time. To sunny skies and the top down. To laughter, to warm smiles. To his old friends.

But coming here, to this dingy outpost in what little is left of the Meldacio Headquarters, is an escape in its own way. The hunters here don't care for names, not any more than they care for stories of the past. The holes they’ve cut in the filthy walls between the rooms never judge him. When he comes here, he no longer has to be Prompto, the useless bodyguard of a king he couldn’t protect. He can simply be just another warm body seeking release.

And one other body in particular is turning out to be the best escape he’s found yet. The man fucking him is a stranger, yet the thick, calloused hands gripping his hips through the hole in the wall are somehow famliar. Prompto can almost pretend that the fingers, far too scarred now but still thick, still commanding, belong to someone he knew long ago. He can almost believe, as he grinds himself back again and again onto the cock that's offered there, that time can run backwards, and he finds himself gasping a name he'd thought long since dried to ash on his tongue.

It’s a name from his memories, where he can almost pretend he’s happy.

And at the end, when in a voice like honey and heavy smoke the faceless man calls Prompto's name in answer,  _ well.  _ Does it really matter? Is it worth the hope? Should he give into the impulse to peer through the hole, to see if maybe, just maybe, it’s really  _ him... _ ? 

No. No, of course it isn’t, Prompto reminds himself. Sometimes, not knowing is better. Hope has let him down far too many times now. It’s better - it’s  _ easier _ \- to run away.

After all, running away is the only thing keeping him alive.

 

* * *

 

**Two can play at this game**

Prompt: Pickle jar (for Sai) 

 

“Hey, uh, big guy. Can I borrow you for a sec?”

“Hmm?” The response was accompanied by little more than a flick of Gladio's gaze over the top of his book. He was just getting to the good part – Claudette was  _ finally _ about to confess her feelings to the attorney on the rival side – when Prompto had walked into the camper's single bedroom, hands behind his back, to interrupt him. Why him, and nor Noct or Iggy, was anyone's guess.

In the door frame, Prompto shuffled back and forth on his feet. “Mind if I, um. Come in?”

Something was up. Gladio sensed it in the way Prompto slowly approached the bed, eyes guarded, almost cautious behind a veil of blond.  _ Demure _ , even, though it was hard to imagine him playing at anything but mischief. Still, Gladio slid himself further up the bed, making sure to put at least a foot of distance between them when Prom sat down.

Amber eyes narrowed instantly in suspicion. “What's that?” he started, preemptively nodding at the object Prompto had clasped tight between his hands.

“Oh.” The blond looked startled. “It's, um. It's pickles.”

“Pickles?”

“Pickles. Y'know, long and green, Noct hates 'em.”

“Yeah, I know what pickles  _ are _ ,” Gladio rolled his eyes. “I'm asking what you want me to do with them?”

Maybe it was the lighting, or his choice of reading material for the evening, but there was almost something... _ flirty  _ about the smile Prompto flashed him. Coy, expectant, and Gladio would be lying if he said the look didn't catch his attention in a big way.

“So, um, I was hoping you could help me, actually. Iggy and I couldn't get this jar open. But I was kinda thinkin', with all your....” He paused, waved a hand purposefully at Gladio's upper body, and smiled again. “... _ that,  _ maybe you could give it a try?”

There was no doubt the kid was up to something. He was acting too sweet, coming on too strong, as if he was intentionally going after every one of Gladio's weaknesses. How was he supposed to say no to a request like that? Especially when there was a chance Prompto  _ wasn't _ joking around, and an unopened jar meant risking Ignis' wrath before dinner. Sighing, Gladio folded down the corner of the page he'd been reading and set his book aside on the bed.

“Give it here, shrimpy. This'll only take a sec.”

Prompto sat, smiling and watching him, while he clamped his fingers around the offending lid and twisted as hard as he could. Then again, because maybe his grip was off the first time. Once more, straining uselessly against the vice-like seal until his breath left him in a glorified wheeze.

“What the  _ shit  _ is in these pickles?” Across from him, hands folded under his chin, Prompto shrugged.

“No clue, big guy.” The innocent smile he offered was hardly convincing. “You think you can get it open? Or should I ask one of the hunters at th--”

“I got it, Prom. Chill.”  _ Okay.  _ Grunting, Gladio slid himself off the edge of the bed and rubbed his palms together.  _ Time to get serious. _

He tried with his left hand. He tried with both hands, propping the jar between his feet and bending over for maximum torque. He tried squeezing the jar between his bulging bicep and his pecs, hoping the pressure would somehow give him a boost. He even, once the sweat had begun to soak through the thin fabric of his shirt, tried running the lid under the hot water in the bathroom sink, but still to no avail.

The entire time, Prompto tagged behind him like an eager puppy. He was ready with suggestion after suggestion, even going so far as to offer a massage when Gladio's arms began to ache. “Don't stop now,” he encouraged cheerfully after each failed attempt. “You almost had it that time!”

For his part, Gladio was too focused to notice much out of the ordinary. He missed, for example, the way Prompto's eyes widened at every sight of flexing muscles. He missed the occasional swipe of a pink tongue over even pinker lips, and the phone that silently recorded his efforts from behind Prom's back. Had he noticed, he might have figured out the  _ real  _ game a heck of a lot sooner.

As it was, the ball didn't drop until, with a sound like freedom, the jar’s lid gave a  _ pop _ , and the smell of pickles and victory filled the room at last.

“Yeesss!” Gladio cheered, breathless.

“You did it!” Prompto giggled.

“See! Told you I could.... Uh. Wait. Hold up. Is that... _ glue _ ?”

“Hm? I don't know what you're talking about,” smiled the blond, quickly snatching back the jar and the lid, and tucking the latter behind his back. “Thanks for the help. Don't know what we'd do without you, big guy.”

“Prompto....” Eyes narrowing, Gladio took a step closer.

But Prom was already moving out of his reach toward the door. “'Eheh. Better get these back to the kitchen then, before Iggy flips. Thanks again!”

Then he was gone, taking the pickles and the evidence with him. 

Gladio briefly debated going after him. He felt, not unjustifiably, like he’d just been duped, made to waste perfectly good reading time on what amounted to a trolling side-quest. Prompto had  _ obviously _ tampered with that lid on purpose - but for what purpose, Gladio was still struggling to understand. 

Oh, well. He was sure he’d find out sooner or later. And when he did, he’d be ready with a little payback of his own…. 

_ (...To be continued…?) _

 

* * *

 

**The Sexy Quest Chronicles**

Prompt: Trashy

Word count: 615

It was filth. Trash. Absolute, one-hundred percent garbage, and yet Prompto could hardly tear his eyes away. The words on the pages all but burned, their intensity turning his cheeks as fiery red as Ifrit's flame, and stirring up heat deep in his gut. A heat that was as much in response to the  _ imagery  _ in the words as to the knowledge of who had written them.

“ _ Gladio, _ ” Prompto breathed out between his lips, practically in time with the character in the story.  _ His  _ character, because who else could the blond, bird-loving elven archer be intended to represent? And who, besides the author himself, was the tall, rugged,  _ very well-endowed  _ mercenary plunging his “lusty broadsword” into said elf's backside? These characters in Gladio's apparent foray into erotic fiction – titled  _ The Sexy Quest Chronicles, _ and scribbled in dark ink into the Shield's private journal – were clear cut cases of art imitating real life. Even the names were a dead giveaway, which Prompto wasn't sure made things better or worse.

“'Oh, Promolas! How many moons have I waited to have you like this?'” Beside him, Noct was struggling to read a full sentence aloud without bursting into laughter. “'Your tight body is my only weakness. Even a great warrior like me is powerless to resist your perfect ass.'”

“Oh em  _ gee,  _ Noct, stop! I'm gonna die,” the real Prompto groaned, burying his beet-red face in his hands. So, yeah, maybe he’d been harboring a crush of his own on the dark-haired shield for a couple years now, and maybe he sometimes fantasized about what he was like in bed. But despite those feelings, he could never have dreamed  _ this  _ was how Gladio saw him in return. Like,  _ really  _ saw him, ass and all. To write something like this.... Did it mean...?

Did Gladio want to  _ fuck  _ him?

As if oblivious to his friend's distress, Noct was continuing to read on as best he could physically manage. “Check out this bit, dude, it's fucking gold. – 'Oh, Gladimir, yes! Yes, make love to my pert elf body. Only you can fi--'  _ oh, dude, I can't breathe!  _ '--Only you can fill me up so fully and quench my lust!'  _ What the actual fuck!”  _ Hands clasped to his sides, Noct dropped the journal into Prompto's lap, toppled backwards on the floor of the tent, and began laughing uncontrollably. “Holy-y-y  _ shit! _ ”

Prompto, meanwhile, was torn between reading the rest (half a page, clearly unfinished) and just tossing the whole thing into the campfire. Or, he supposed, they could tuck it back into Gladio's pack where they'd found it, and pretend none of this had ever happened. He could go back to pining over Gladio from afar, not knowing that he secretly wrote trashy fantasy porn about them together and probably jerked off to –

No. No, there was no way he could unsee this. No way he could get the image of Gladimir's – er,  _ Gladio's _ – hands moving over his chest, or that rough jawline gliding between his thighs. He didn't want to throw it out because even though it was most definitely trash, it was  _ good  _ trash.

And now he wanted to know what happened next.

With Noct still cackling on the floor of the tent beside him, Prompto instead reached past his friend for his own bag. Pulled out a pen, and tugged the cap off between his teeth before flipping to the next blank page in the book. He thought for a moment – what would Promolas say here? -- then wrote:

_ “I, too, have long waited to have you to myself, handsome warrior. Please take me again! And maybe this time...choke me a little?” _

_ (...To be continued!)  _


	6. Set Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixth set: #15. Coach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one drabble this time because a) NaNo crunch and b) this one is actually really long lol 
> 
> Based on an old-ish prompt 'coach' that I think someone requested, but maybe I just imagined it. Hm. Anyway, enjoy!

**Swim Trunks and Summer Love**

**Prompt: Coach**

**Word count: 2501**

Looking back, there'd been no way of knowing just how much one summer could change everything.

It had started out like every other year. Gladio got a part-time job as a life-guard at the same community pool he'd been working at since high school. Noct was still there, cleaning or doing maintenance when he felt like it, and slacking off in the game room when he didn't. Cor Leonis was still the manager, running the place with an iron fist and a nose slathered in too much sunscreen. The locker room still smelled like chlorine and pot, the only vending machine in it was still broken, and Gladio’s uniform (a pair of dark blue swim trunks) still fit a little too tight around his thighs.

Everything that year was exactly as it had always been – except for a single new addition.

At least, Gladio  _ hoped _ the kid was single. His name was Prompto, and he'd been brought on to coach the junior athlete swim camp that summer. Younger than Gladio by an easy few years, Prompto had the kind of nervous, unbridled energy that came with starting a new job in a new city. His hands performed veritable acrobatics when he spoke, and he grinned often to mask the way his voice broke in front of the team. But he was eager and enthusiastic, which made him an instant hit among both the staff and the kids at the pool. Within a week, Noct had already claimed Prompto as his new best friend, and Cor was impressed to see classes filling up faster than they ever had before.

It seemed no one was immune to the new coach's charms, and Gladio was no exception. He'd spent just about every hot, humid afternoon that month watching Prompto from afar; in the water, out of the water, getting back into the water again. The sight of those baby blue eyes, that bright, freckled skin, that hair the color and shape of a chocobo butt - it never got old. He was pretty sure, even perched up in his lifeguard chair with his eyes hidden behind dark shades, that he was being obvious as hell. Someone was inevitably going to think he was a creep, maybe even a stalker, and then Prompto would never want anything to do with him after that. What he needed was a wingman - no matter how unlikely the source. 

“You're gonna have to talk to him eventually,” Noct said one afternoon, draping himself across an empty pool-side lounge chair. They’d both been cleaning while the lunch crowd waited out their thirty-minute sentence, but Noct had already discarded his skimmer net in favor of  _ not  _ working. “Prom's gonna think you hate him.”

Gladio, who had until that moment been fishing a lost bikini bottom out of the deep end with a hook, froze mid-scoop. “He's  _ what _ ? Why would he think that?”

A shrug. “You're intimidating. And you've barely said, like, two words to him all summer. That doesn't exactly scream  _ boyfriend material _ , y'know.”

“So?” he asked in a very unconvincing tone. “It’s not like I’m interested or anything.”

“Chocobo shit. You’re so into him even  _ Cor’s _ noticed. But dude,” Noct continued. “If you're gonna ask him out, stop wasting time. It's almost August. You're gonna lose your chance before he leaves Insomnia for good.”

The words struck Gladio harder than he cared to admit. Noct was right; summer was almost over, and who knew when - or even if - he'd get to see Prompto again after that? He was from Niflheim, after all, not exactly the easiest place to get into for the son of a Lucian military commander. No, letting Prompto leave without telling him how he felt - that was a mistake he'd no doubt regret for the rest of his life.

He decided to take the very next chance he got. Which, luckily for him (and not without some intervention from a certain mutual friend), happened to be that very evening. 

The pool usually closed around sunset. Once all the kids and families had gone home, it was Gladio’s job to sweep the lockers for anything accidentally left behind - towels, sandals, the occasional set of headphones. Most nights, he was done before the rest of the staff had finished bringing in the sun umbrellas, but as fate would have it, he’d just discovered what appeared to be a lost ID card lodged deep under the broken vending machine. Down on his knees, he’d been attempting to fish it out with a paperclip for nearly ten minutes when he suddenly heard the locker room door open with a timid creak. 

“Um, hello?” The voice instantly sent Gladio’s heart racing. He jumped to his feet, and turned around to face the door just as Prompto shrank back in surprise. “Oh!”

“Hey, uh...Prom.  _ Prompto. _ ” 

“Gl...Gladio, right? I didn’t mean to, um. S-sorry, it’s just that Noct said that I should meet him here. We were, um, gonna grab some burgers at the Crow’s Nest, it’s kind of our Friday night thing.” The blond shifted on a pair of bright yellow flip-flops. They matched his hair, Gladio noted with an internal chuckle, as he allowed his eyes to drink in the rest of the view. Instead of the dark-blue swim trunks all the staff at the pool usually wore, Prompto had already changed back into his street clothes: a pair of black skinny jeans, a loose-fitting red sleeveless tee, and a light-grey flannel shirt tied around his waist. 

He looked  _ good _ . 

“So you’re, uh, looking for Noct?” Gladio said through the fog of his brain. He himself was still wearing nothing but his uniform, a fact of which he was acutely aware as he rounded the bench and saw Prompto’s eyes widen. “I haven’t seen him in a few hours. Maybe he skipped out early. He does that sometimes.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. All the time, actually. Cor never says anything, though, ‘cause of his dad.”  _ Dammit, _ he was rambling. Prompto was standing right in front of him and once again he was blowing his shot. “Well, uh, anyway. He’s not here. Hey, Prom?” 

In the door, the blond stopped mid-turn and glanced up with round, bright eyes. “Hm?”

“Think you could...give me a hand with something?” 

Together, they kneeled down in front of the vending machine and pressed their cheeks as close to the cold cement floor as they dared. “Y’see it? Right there, next to the green cable.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I can reach it. Do you still have that paperclip?” 

Gladio pressed it into Prompto’s outstretched fingers ( _ gods,  _ they were so soft) and held his breath in anticipation. As expected, the blond’s thin wrist slid easily under the front of the machine, and before long he heard the telltale scrape of plastic as the ID card was slowly dragged along the floor. One final flick and Prompto pushed it out to him. 

“Got it! Nice work, kid. You could be a professional at this.”

Laughing, Prompto allowed Gladio to help him back up to his feet. “What, at fishing around under vending machines?” He ducked his head, pretending to be interested in brushing the dust off his pants, but there was no mistaking the hint of color tinting freckled cheeks. “Not exactly gonna get rich that way. Maybe a free soda or two once in a while, but….” 

“Thanks for the help,” Gladio grinned, cutting him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When Prompto didn’t flinch away, he let it linger there, testing the waters. Hoping. “I, uh, haven’t told you this yet, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Eheh, really?” Again, Prompto laughed as he grew suddenly very focused on his yellow sandals. “I mean, like, I was just looking for Noct, guess it was pure luck.” 

“Not just here, I mean. I was talking about everything. It’s been nice,” he shrugged. “Since you started here, things are different. In a good way. I’m really glad you’re part of the team.”

For a brief moment, it looked as if Prompto was going to say something. His mouth opened, closed again. He blinked rapidly up at Gladio as if trying desperately to process what he was saying, looking for the deeper meaning behind the words. Then, just as blue eyes softened in understanding, a shrill chime rang out from his back pocket, and the moment came tumbling back down with a cold splash of reality over them both. 

“I-it’s probably Noct,” he said in an oddly thin voice. “I should….”

“Yeah, no. ‘Course.” 

“Just a sec.” Prompto turned away fully from him and whipped out his phone with lightning speed. Whatever greeted him on the screen had him typing furiously a half-second later, while Gladio, not knowing what else to do in the awkward silence, shifted his attention instead to the card in his hand. 

Only...it wasn’t an ID card. There was no photo on the front, no name or address. Just the words  _ Mother of Pearl, Resort Restaurant and Bar _ scrawled across in gold script. There was a gil amount, too. Nearly a full month’s paycheck worth, to be exact. Gladio’s brows furrowed. There was no way….

“So, I guess Noct isn’t coming,” Prompto sighed, dumping his phone back into his pocket. “Says something came up with some dude named Ignis?” 

“His boyfriend.” Slowly, warily, and with his eyes still locked on the card, Gladio flipped it over in his palm. There was writing there, though the ink was smudged and scraped away in places where the thing had been dragged across the concrete. “Hey, how good are your eyes? Can you make this out?” 

“Hm? Oh, that looks like Noct’s writing. It says…..” Prompto leaned closer, the scent of whatever shampoo he’d showered with filling Gladio’s senses and rendering him even less capable of understanding what was going on. “I think it says, ‘Go for it, already.’ Or it could be more like, ‘Golf tiddy,’ it’s hard to tell if that’s an L or a--” 

“Prompto. Would you like to have dinner? With me? Tonight?” 

The words left him in a rush. It was all he could do to hope to the gods that enough of it was coherent for Prompto to get the message. He had to hope, because what else could all of this mean? Noct had bought him this chance, hadn’t he? Quite literally, if the gift card to the fanciest date spot in all of Insomnia was any indication. 

“...Dinner,” Prompto repeated.

“Yeah.” 

“Tonight?” 

“If you’re free,” Gladio risked, wondering if maybe he hadn’t read into this completely wrong after all. 

“Yeah, I am. Totally. But, um.” The blond seemed to hesitate for a moment. He chewed his bottom lip, a habit Gladio had noticed him doing anytime he was thinking too hard about which bag of chips to get on his lunch break. Only this time, the prize he was eyeing was already standing shirtless right in front of him. “Neither of us are really dressed for a place like the  _ Pearl _ , don’tcha think?”

_ Heh _ . He had a point. Gladio tucked the gift card away in the tiny slot that passed for a pocket in his trunks, and went for a different approach instead. “How about the arcade, then? You said you were already planning to go with Noct. Maybe I could keep you company tonight, instead.” 

“Tempting,” Prompto grinned, and was it Gladio’s imagination or was he getting closer? “Actually, that sounds pretty awesome. Okay, I’m sold. But you’re, um.”  _ Gods,  _ his eyes were beautiful when he laughed. “You’re still gonna need a shirt, though.” 

Fifteen minutes later found them locking up the front gate. Another five and they were chatting together on the way to the mall, Prompto’s arm hooked around Gladio’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, Gladio thought, it was.

By the time they made it to the arcade, neither seemed willing to want to let go for the rest of the night. Which made gaming arguably more difficult, even when Prompto insisted that Gladio’s arms around his waist made him a better sniper. Or like when he swore up and down that four hands made rhythm games easier, not the other way around. Or when, dragging Gladio into the 3-D zombie shooter booth after him, he promised they could share the gun. 

As it turned out, neither of them needed it. Prompto found his way into Gladio’s lap before the game had even started, and their lips didn’t break again until they’d both run out of coins. 

Even then, they found it difficult to stop. Gladio managed a glance in the direction of the booth’s curtain, and chuckled to see the rows of feet already lining up outside. “Mm. Hey, Prom, check it out.”

“Mm?” Those perfect lips, slick now with the evidence of their kiss, pulled just far enough away for Prompto to catch his drift. “Oh. Hm. Maybe we should….” 

“Yeah.” 

“You wanna try the, um….” 

“Mmhmm?” Gladio’s hands had resumed their trail under the back of Prompto’s shirt, making it visibly difficult for the blond to find the proper words. 

“I-I’m staying in a sharehouse near here. We could, um, go to my room?” He suggested, then dissolved into a mess of shivers as Gladio’s nails ghosted over his spine. 

“You sure? We could always try the  _ Pearl. _ ” 

“You mean…?” 

A quick dig around in his jeans pockets produced the gift card Noct had planted for them. With that much money, they could easily afford a room for the night, with enough left over in the morning for breakfast in bed. 

Alright, so maybe Gladio was getting ahead of himself. But Prompto felt so  _ right _ like this, so much better in his arms even than he’d dreamed. It was impossible not to want him in every single way. 

“We could always tell Princess we spent it on the open buffet.” 

Freckled cheeks lit up like Solstice when Prompto grinned. “Deal.” 

They got a taxi from the mall. Checked into a gorgeous room with a double bed and a stunning view of the night sea. Spent the evening ignoring all of that in favor of falling into each other, again and again and again as the moon sank behind the clouds. A perfect end to a perfect summer date. 

 And in the morning, over coffee and the best omelettes Prompto swore he’d ever had in his life, Gladio came to the conclusion that he was desperately, hopelessly, endlessly in love. What had started as a crush at the pool had, over the course of a single evening, changed him completely. Forget summer. Forget the distance, and the politics, and whatever his father would probably say. This was  _ real _ , and it was going to be worth it. 

Prompto smiled when he told him. Chewed his bottom lip for a long moment, and then, diving across the table, accepted the promise with an egg-flavored vow of his own. 


	7. Seventh Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seventh set: #16. Sharing (for ellay_gee); #17. Handcuffs (for CommanderBoxers)

**Creature of the Night**

Prompt: sharing (for ellay-gee) 

Word Count: 370

The moonlight is silver, an ancient, ageless glow that filters in past the thin curtains of his bedroom. It bathes the walls, the rug, the bed sheets in its cool embrace, illuminates the frost hanging crystalline in the air.

From Prompto's lips falls a puff of white. A breath, a sigh - his last, as with it his very life escapes him. There's no cry of fear, nor of pain. Only acceptance of a fate he himself has chosen. He, and no one else. His blue eyes roll back. In his heart, he knows he's made the right choice.

The hands on his back slide away. There's no need to hold him upright now that Gladio is done. Slowly, reverently, the larger man pulls his mouth away from the soft flesh of Prompto's neck, leaving behind twin marks where his fangs have pierced. A sacrifice given freely, and taken out of love.

Gladio watches Prompto for some time, silently beneath the light of the moon. Watches the color fade from his freckled cheeks and the hair fall into his face as his head tips back. Even like this he is beautiful, Gladio thinks. Graceful and pure, soft and yet so very brave. Everything that he is not. His opposite. His perfect foil. And now, simply _his_ – forever.

Red eyes slide closed in the moonlight. Gladio does not flinch when his fangs tear open the skin of his own wrist, or as the lifeblood – stolen, and precious – begins to drip onto the already stained sheets below. “Prom,” he whispers into the deathly still night. “Prom. Drink.”

Faint movement, but it's enough. As he presses his wrist to Prompto's pale lips, his essence flows between them. Fresh blood returned, shared again with Prompto that he may be brought back. Not as he once was, of course, but changed. Stronger. _Hungry_. An eternal creature of the night.

“Drink,” Gladio presses again, and at last feels that familiar tongue flick out to accept the offering. Energy bleeds into Prompto, drop by drop, until he's able to pull Gladio closer to feed.

Above a sharp smile, the vampire's powerful eyes drink in the lovely sight. ”Welcome back, my sunshine. How do we taste?”

 

* * *

 

**Bound Here With You**

Prompt: Handcuffs (for CommanderBoxers) 

Word count: 2317 (oops my hand slipped) 

They brought the kid in clapped from neck to ankles in chains. It seemed like overkill, honestly. He was young, mousey, and looked to Gladio like he weighed about a gil fifty soaking wet. The two guards on either side of him were both taller by at least a head, yet still they marched him forward in an iron grip like he was some kind of threat.

Huh, Gladio though. It was high time he had some entertainment.

“Who's the shrimp?” he grinned through the bars of his own cell as the empty one beside him was thrown open. The blond kid was hurled, chains and all, to the floor of it.

“A friend for you, Amicitia. Must be your lucky day.” Highwind, Warden at Zegnautus Keep, smirked as she dropped a set of keys down the front of her bustier. “Shame, though. He's not too talkative, this one.”

“Neither are the rats,” Gladio shrugged.

That earned him a sharp grin. “What, you don't appreciate the company down here? Tell someone who cares.”

“You're a real fount of sympathy for the downtrodden, aren't you, Nea?”

“Hmph. Alright, boys, let's leave these two to get acquainted. I've got a date at the pub with a tall, cold pint of freedom.” Waving the other guards ahead of her, Highwind exited with in flourish of crimson skirt and silver braids. _Good riddance,_ Gladio spat in her wake. His little play at banter would likely cost him a day's rations knowing her style, but he hadn't been able to resist. He'd never been any good at bowing his head to authority, anyway.

Which brought him to his new neighbor. The kid was still struggling to right himself on the floor, wrists and ankles encumbered under heavy chains as they were. He grunted, found his balance, then teetered again to land on his ass in the dirt.

“ _Dammit._ ” Blue eyes wet with frustration paused to scan the cell around him. Solid bars, a single stone wall, no candles or windows aside from the light in the corridor outside. The kid huffed again. “What a dump.”

“Yep. Which makes us her resident scraps of garbage. Hi,” Gladio smiled, leaning bodily against the bars between them. “Name's Gladiolus. What brings a small fry like you to the depths of Zegnautus?”

A long moment passed while the kid sized him up. His pink lips twitched at the edges, expression unreadable. “Me? Theft, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Mostly,” he repeated, and the smile he flashed was even more mysterious. “Think you can give me a hand?”

He scooted over toward the bars, where Gladio helped to support him while he untangled his limbs from his bonds. Slowly, and with a fair amount of squirming, he got to his feet, and promptly tossed the largest of the chains aside on the floor. “That's better. Thanks.”

“Yeah, uh.” Gladio looked from him to the discarded chain, and back again. “How'd you do that?”

“Oh? Trade secret,” came that mysterious – and decidedly playful – smile again. “Plus the two idiots who tied me up weren't exactly pros. I've gotten out of worse.”

It was Gladio's turn to grin. He watched the kid shuffle over to his cot and start working on the manacles around his ankles next. “You're an escape artist, aren't you? I was wondering why a shrimp like you'd get tossed down in a place like this. Now I get it. You must've made some big enemies up there to get the Highwind treatment.”

“You first,” he shot back. He was still turning his ankle back and forth, warming up for whatever trick he planned to pull next. “You tell me what you're in for, and maybe I'll give you my name.”

 _Oh_ , this kid knew how to drive a bargain. And, apparently, he'd seen right through Gladio's weakness for soft eyes and secrets. “Easy. It was a bar fight.”

“Did you pick on someone even bigger than you?”

A snort. “I didn't start shit. I finished it, though, believe me.” He drew his thumb down the length of the scar over his left eye, noticing for the first time the way those blue eyes really focused on him. “I walked away with a souvenir, but the other guy didn't walk away at all. Unfortunately for me, though, it turned out he was a Niff with connections to the Empire. Hence the royal treatment in His Lowliness's personal Keep.”

“You're from Lucis.” It wasn't a question, nor did Gladio need to respond. If his accent and loyalties hadn't given him away already, then the kid was even dumber than he looked. “I was planning to go there, y'know. Get out of Niflheim, start a new life in the Crown city. I'd almost saved up enough for passage on a ship through Accordo, but _those_ jerks caught up with me at the docks.”

“A day late and a gil short, huh.”

He hummed in agreement. Silence fell between them while he made several attempts, all in vain, to slide his foot out through the ring of his manacles. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he dropped both feet uselessly back onto the floor. “...I'm Prompto, by the way. But, um, promise you won't tell the Warden that?”

When Gladio smiled, it was genuine. “My lips are sealed. And for what it's worth, I hope you get to see Lucis someday. It's beautiful.”

How long had it been since he'd had someone to talk to? Most of the unlucky souls who got dragged down to the lower levels of the Keep didn't last the night, and spent their waking hours shouting for mercy from the guards who weren't even listening. But Prompto was different. He was friendly, and funny, and brought an ounce of sunshine where there had only been shadows before. As the hours - and then days - ticked passed, Gladio found himself drawn to the kid like a moth to a flame.

Or, rather, like a hot-blooded man to an irresistible pair of baby blues.

Prompto, it seemed, enjoyed the attention, too. He began to pass the time sitting against the bars between their cells, shoulder pressed against Gladio's for warmth, or bound hands clasped around calloused knuckles in his lap. The touches grew more intimate as their stories took a more personal tone – Gladio talked about his sister back in Insomnia, Prompto about his childhood in the orphanage. Until one evening, after the guards had dropped off their meager meals, Gladio reached through the bars to pull Prompto into a sudden kiss.

It was awkward. The bars kept them too far apart for a proper one, but the message was clear in the fire in Gladio's eyes. Prompto, at least, had no trouble reading it. With a smile as mysterious as the one he wore the first time he'd been brought in, he dropped to his knees and licked his tongue over his lips.

Stronger men than Gladio wouldn't have been able to resist an offer like that. He groaned, pulling himself out of his pants and pressing his hips flush to the bars. It was messy. It was fast. But when Prompto was done, Gladio felt freer even in his dusty cell than he had in ages. Helping the blond back up to his feet, he returned the favor to the sound of his name ringing like chimes off the very walls.

But he should have known it wouldn't last. It couldn't, not in a joyless place like Zegnautus. Gladio woke that very night to the familiar sound of heels on stone. To Highwind's insufferable smirk as, for the first time in the week since Prompto had been brought in, she deigned to grace them with her presence in person.

“Hello, boys. No, no, don't get up on my account,” she laughed, as both Gladio and Prompto attempted to edge away from their shared bars before they were caught. The Warden's smile said it was too late for propriety. “Sorry to break up your little date, but I'm here with a message from the High Commander.”

“The hell does Ravus want with me now?” Gladio snarled. Despite the barriers, he had taken a step in front of Prompto on instinct.

But Aranea shook her head. “Not you, big man. This message is for the pretty one.”

Prompto, frowning, met her with a surprisingly steely gaze, as she continued. “Congratulations, kid. They've rushed your trial and found you guilty of treason.”

“Trial...? What trial?”

“The Emperor's eager to spill some traitorous blood, so High Commander Nox Fleuret will carry out your execution first thing in the morning. Alas, that means I've got to waste my night transferring you to our 'outgoing' floor.”

“Wait, you can't--”

“You'll be a good boy and come quietly,” she said, twirling the cell keys on one finger. “If you know what's good for you.”

There was nothing Gladio could do. No amount of shouting, of pounding at his bars seemed to help. Nothing he growled or cursed in Highwind's directions stopped her from throwing open Prompto's cell and dragging him, manacles and all, out of it.

“Prom – _fuck! Prompto!_ ”

Though his face was drained of color, the blond seemed too shocked to even fight back. His wide, frightened eyes fixed on Gladio, but when his mouth opened no sound came out.

“Calm down, Amicitia. You'll get your turn soon enough.” Highwind twirled her fingers almost sweetly in a lock of blond hair that had fallen into Prompto's face. “In the meantime, I'll try to find another pretty plaything to keep you company down here. Ta ta.”

He threw himself against the door of his cell, grimacing against the pain. “ _Fuck you!_ Don't hurt him! Prompto, I--”

They were gone. The heavy door slammed shut behind them both, and Gladio was left alone with his rage and heartache. Like a storm breaking against a cliff he continued to fly at his bars, shouting and wailing at nothing. Cursing the Empire and himself most of all for being weak, useless in the face of this injustice. For letting himself get close when he knew it would only cause him pain. Was this it, then? Would he die in this place never again seeing Prompto, or his home, or his king?

The fight gradually died from him, but not until his limbs were numbs and his knuckles bloodied from the bite of the iron bars. He slumped against them in defeat, and closed his eyes to the cruel reality of the world.

His sleep was dreamless. Yet he thought of Prompto all the same, as if his very senses were filled with him. His soft skin, the feel of lips brushing over his in a shy kiss. His touch like the air of a warm summer day, reminding Gladio of the world outside his cell. His voice, which called out to him in a hushed whisper, so close and yet....

“...dio. Gladio, _psst_. Wake up.”

He thought, maybe in his half-waking state, that he opened his eyes to see Prompto perched in his lap, smiling as brightly as ever. A sweet memory, perhaps, or a dream that he....

“Wake. _Up_.”

The slap of fingers to his cheek startled him out of his stupor. Gladio shook his head and found, to his utter disbelief, that there really _was_ a warm body occupying his lap, and that Prompto's sigh of relief was as real as anything he'd ever heard. “Thank the Six. I thought I was gonna have to drag your ass out of here by myself.”

“...Prom? What...? Where did...?”

A jingle like the sound of freedom as the blond lifted Highwind's own set of keys up between them. Gladio noticed, too, that Prom was no longer shackled, though his wrists were still an angry red where the manacles had bit at his flesh for days. “Sorry, but I had to play along until I had a chance to snag these. I told you, I've gotten out of worse.”

 _Prompto, you...._ Laughter, crazed as he suddenly felt, bubbled up from Gladio's throat. Then he was wrapping his arms around the blond, pulling him as close as he'd dreamed and showering his neck in kisses. “You _brilliant_ little shit!”

“Eheh. C'mon, knock it off, someone's gonna hear you.” Shifting easily out of his grasp, Prompto helped Gladio to his feet in turn. The cell door was wide open – courtesy of the pilfered keys - and Gladio stared for a long moment out of it as if he was still trying to make sure this wasn't a dream.

“There's almost always a way out through the sewers. If we follow the sound of water, we can.... Gladio?” Fingers found his wrist, tugged him gently toward the door. “What's wrong? Let's go, already.”

“Why?”

“...What?”

“Why did you come back for me?” Prompto's eyes said this wasn't the time for it, but Gladio's feet didn't seem to want to move. He took the kid's hand in his own as he searched deep into those mysterious blue eyes for answers. “You could've gotten out on your own, ages ago. Why...?”

_Why'd you stay? Why are you still here now?_

His answer came in the form of a swift, but purposeful, kiss, as warm and perfect as he imagined it'd be with nothing between them to hold them back. “Because I like you. A lot. And I hoped maybe you'd show me some of those places from your stories.”

“In Lucis?”

“Let's go there together. Please, Gladio.”

He nodded. Nudged his fingers between Prompto's until their hands were locked together tight, a bond stronger than any chain in any prison could have ever held. “I wanna take you home with me, sunshine. I want that more than anything. Lead the way.”

Highwind herself discovered the empty cells the next morning, but by then both of them were halfway out to sea.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've got any prompts, feel free to send them to me here or over on Twitter @Lhugy2


End file.
